“And the public?”
“Hmm? Oh, you were jesting.”
“So, this is the former?”
“Yes. And that’s what’s puzzling me.”
“Go on.”
“There’s no point in rushing through it when everything is already known, being talked about in every theater, written about in stock sheets.”
“I see your point. So, why are they doing it?”
“Just what I was wondering.”
“Any theories?”
He shook his head. “Could what you’re not telling me account for it?”
“I don’t see how. But I don’t know enough to have an intelligent opinion.”
“I do, but I don’t have the information you have.” He didn’t sound like he was making an accusation, just stating facts.
“I don’t have information,” I told him. “Just theories.”
He grunted. “Is there anything you can tell me?”
“I can ask you something. What’s up with the new Warlord?”
“Norathar? She’s also Dragon Heir. Unusual, though not unheard-of.”
“So I’m told. What does it mean?”
“You mean, aside from believing her the best choice?”
“Was she? Why? Her experience in the Jhereg?”
His eyebrows rose. “I heard something about that. Is it true?”
I shrugged. “What makes her the best choice?”
He spread his hands. “I know nothing about what makes a good Warlord. I was just assuming the choice was based on merit.”
“Is that how things work in the Iorich?”
“Yes. Well, no. Not entirely.” He frowned. “It’s complicated.”
“Involving patronage, family, wealth—”
“Let’s stay with the problem, shall we? If you’re right, and there is something odd about Norathar’s appointment as War-lord, then that’s something we should look into.”
“We?”
“You.”
“How would I go about doing that?”
“I’d start with speaking to Norathar.”
“I did. Didn’t get much.”
He grunted. “Do you have other sources?”
“I used to. I’ve been on the run for a while.”
“Can you—?”
“Maybe.” I’d already asked Kragar. I could also ask Morrolan, but I found the idea distasteful; there was still the matter of Lady Teldra between us. I realized Perisil wasn’t talking. I cleared my throat. “There are avenues I can pursue,” I said.
He nodded. “Pursue them.”
“I will. What will you be doing?”
“Studying legal history, and trying to pick up on gossip.”
“Gossip?”
“We talk to each other, you know.”
“You mean, the Imperial legal staff will tell you—”
“No, no. Nothing like that.” He shuddered, as if the idea were abhorrent at some deep level. “No, but they’ll sometimes make oblique remarks to friends, and friends have friends, and I have friends who are friends of friends.”
“So, we’re talking precise information here.”
“No,” he said, ignoring my tone. “But possibly useful information.”
“All right.”
He frowned. “I’m not the enemy.”
“I know that. If you were the enemy I’d, ah, I’d not have come here.”
“I’m saying that if we’re going to manage an acquittal for Aliera, both of you are going to have to trust me, at least a little.”
“But you just told me that I didn’t dare tell you anything I didn’t want the Empire knowing about.”
He nodded. “That makes it hard, I know.”
“But you’re saying I should tell you anyway?”
He hesitated. “No. I wouldn’t care to take responsibility for that. When I said that if I were compelled, I’d reveal anything you told me, I meant it.”
“Well then?”
He sighed and shook his head. “Just keep in mind what I said. This isn’t going to be easy, and you’re both going to have to trust me.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Where are you going to start?”
“Back in the Palace. Dragon Wing—my favorite place. Listen to gossip, see if I hear anything that will help.”
He nodded. “Best of luck.”
I stood up. “Thanks.”
“I’ll be here.”
As I turned away, he was already studying his book again.
Iorich
9
In this appendix, we will be addressing some of the tangential rumors that have been spread among various sections of the Court and the nobility relating to the incident. In particular, we will look at theories of influence by outside parties on the events, and on the effect of narcotics, psychedelics, depressants, stimulants, and hallucinogens that may or may not have been in use by any of those involved.
The committee wishes to observe that it addresses these issues under protest: it is our opinion that for the Empire or its representatives to respond to rumor and innuendo from unreliable sources sets a precedent that can, in the long run, have no effect but to give credence to and encourage such rumor and innuendo. That said, we now examine the substance. . . .
Unfortunately, their surprise and timing were perfect; not even Loiosh could warn me. Fortunately, they didn’t want to kill me. These facts were related: the Jhereg would not come after you in the Imperial Palace, and certainly not in the Dragon Wing.
There were four of them. It was just like old times. They wore the stupid gold half-cloak of the Phoenix Guards, and they were big and strong, as Dragonlords usually are. Two came up behind me, two came out of a door I was passing and stepped in front of me. I thought about Lady Teldra—how could I not?—but of course I didn’t draw her. Using Morganti weapons on Dragonlords makes you very unpopular, and even drawing her in the Imperial Palace would have caught the attention of several hundred trained fighters, all of whom would have seen it as in horribly poor taste.
Besides, it would be wrong to destroy people’s souls when all they want to do is give you a good beating, and you know how I am always guided by trying to do the right thing.
Heh.
Look, do you mind if I skip the details? Yeah, I remember them; but if I say them out loud, they’ll always be vivid for me, because that’s how my memory works. And, really, what do you need to know that can’t be told in general?
There they were, two of them in front of me, and Loiosh told me about the two in back, and I knew what was going to happen, because I’d been through it before.
“Keep Rocza out of this.”
What Loiosh replied doesn’t readily translate, but in any case he got Rocza out of the way. He and I had been through this kind of thing a few times, back when I was running my area. He knew by now that I didn’t want to hear any sympathetic words, or anything else; it was just a matter of waiting until it was over.
It always happens so fast, you know? The times I’ve been jumped and managed to avoid it, I’d been out of the situation almost before I knew I was in it. This time, before I really knew what was happening, they’d pushed me into the room and were going to work. I had time to decide what not to do, as I said, but that was about it.
They didn’t draw any weapons—just used their fists and their boots. And they could have made it much worse than they did, if they’d wanted to: They cracked a rib, but other than that didn’t break any bones. They also didn’t say anything—I assumed they took it for granted I knew what it was about.